


How Not to Peel an Orange

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: On the Outside Looking In [9]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: CEO Oliver Queen, CEOliver, Domestic, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Executive Assistant Felicity Smoak, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Laurel Lance, Mutual Pining, on the outside looking in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: “Oliver Queen, you give mebackmy orange!”Felicity jams her finger into his chest with a small grumble.“Yow!Hey, Edward Scissorhands,” Oliver growls, grabbing onto Felicity’s hand, his own hand absolutely engulfing hers. “Watch the claws.”Oh, I’ll show you claws Oliver,” Felicity retorts spitefully, yanking her hand out of his grasp and swatting his arm repeatedly. “Give me back my fracking orange!”(Or, after finishing a conversation with Laurel right outside the elevator bank, Oliver finds Felicity eyeing a small orange wearily. Laurel watches the amused banter that springboards back and forth between the two, and it isn't long before she sees exactly who Felicity Smoak is in Oliver Queen's life).
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: On the Outside Looking In [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319063
Comments: 112
Kudos: 640





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was _not_ the Laurel fic I had originally planned. That one is still in the works (AND I managed to pull the file off my broken laptop so yay!!) but this one just randomly came about after I tried (and failed) to successfully eat an orange today. 
> 
> It happens.
> 
> Anyway, I originally wrote this fic with Walter being the spectator, but switched to Laurel a bit later. I still have the original one with Walter - it's very similar - but I could post it as an alternative/part 2 to this if you guys want to read it? Just let me know (it's very very similar but also a bit different). 
> 
> Anyway, sorry if it's stupid, but it just kind of wrote itself. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, don't get me wrong, I LOVE Laurel (especially when she gets all badass and not hung up on Oliver), but the Laurel that we met in Seasons 1 and 2 were a bit less likable in terms of Oliver's love life, if ya know what I mean.

“I don’t know, Laurel,” Oliver sighs, running a hand down his face as both he and the brunette lawyer round the corner out of the elevator back and onto the executive floor.

“Ollie,” Laurel cuts in, her voice echoing off of the tiled walls. “Think about it. You headlining a fundraiser for an organization dedicated to the Glades will be great publicity for QC. _And_ we’ll be raising money for people that really _really_ need it.”

She blinks up at Oliver, her doe eyes wide and unwavering as Oliver slows to a stop.

The past few months between them have been _interesting_, to say the least.

Laurel doesn’t exactly know where they stand – Oliver hasn’t really made an attempt at anything more than friends since she had finally started speaking to him again. She knows it’s mostly her fault – she did ice him out at wished him the minute she had seen him alive again - but that was _months _ago, and after spending a few late nights with the man working on ways to get Thea more involved with community service and less involved with drugs, Laurel knows that she still has some sort of feelings for him.

She just isn’t exactly sure what those feelings are.

“I - ,”

“Ollie, it’s a good idea. I even ran it by your mother and she didn’t shut it down.”

Oliver’s eyebrows arch quickly at this.

“You talked to my mother?”

“We ran into each other at dinner a few nights ago,” Laurel shifts defensively.

Oliver sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Set it up. Let me know the details.”

Oliver’s gaze is on her, but Laurel has the feeling that his attention is miles away. She grasps his forearm, frowning at the tension lining his body.

“Are you okay?”

Oliver shifts uncomfortably, his head tilting in question. “I’m fine.”

“You just seem – you just -,” Laurel lets her words trail off, taking in the dark circles under Oliver’s eyes and the way he holds himself rigid and defensively. There’s a small bruise on his right cheekbone and even though Laurel hasn’t seen him in the past five years, she’s known him long enough to tell that there’s something troubling him.

“Nothing coffee can’t fix,” Oliver says lightly, offering her small smile before continuing to his office.

Laurel doesn’t say anything about the weird twisting in her stomach – about how Oliver’s smile seems more like a pity smile than anything else. She shakes it off and moves to catch up.

“Okay, so that’s a yes on the fundraiser?”

“Sure,” Oliver says softly, his eyes flickering over her head to something behind her.

“We need to talk logistics though, Ollie -,”

“Yeah, we can get coffee Friday?” Oliver says distractedly, dropping his gaze back down to her. “We can go over the details then.”

Laurel feels a rush of giddiness run through her.

“Yeah. Yeah, coffee sounds great.”

He nods curtly, offering her a small squeeze on her arm, before turning and walking towards his office.

Laurel stands there with a smile. She’s about to step back onto the elevator when she remembers something she forgot to ask, and she turns back to Oliver, the words on the tip of her tongue, before she realizes that Oliver has completely stopped in his tracks.

It’s with great intrigue and a flare of something close to jealousy that Laurel watches the entirety of Oliver Queen’s demeanor shift as his focus settles on the blonde woman sitting at the desk near his office.

The broad stature that was previously filled with tension and stiffness relaxes, and Oliver’s jaw loses the edge to it that reminds Laurel all too much of knives and samurai swords.

Laurel lets the elevator doors slide shut as she angles her body slightly towards the open area of the floor, confusion and interest keeping her rooted to the spot. There’s a plant in front of her almost hiding her from view, and even though she feels entirely too much like she’s spying, Laurel remains still and takes in the scene unfolding in front of her.

It’s as if he doesn’t realize it, but Oliver switches his direction almost immediately, abandoning the path to his office as he walks over to the blonde’s – Felicity, Laurel thinks she’s called – desk with a perplexed frown painting his face.

He stands in front of her for a good few seconds, almost as if waiting for the young woman to realize he’s there. When she doesn’t offer him any form of acknowledgement, he folds his arms tightly across his chest and clears his throat.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating an orange,” Felicity’s response is so quick and so “matter-of-fact-esque” and Laurel jolts at how informal and familiar the conversation is between the two.

She’s is executive assistant, Laurel thinks. Not his best friend.

Oliver grunts but Felicity doesn’t even spare him a glance as she shakes her arms out and rolls her neck dramatically side to side.

Oliver presses his lips together in an amused line, and it pulls into a small smile when Felicity folds her hands in front of her and arches them out to crack them. He takes in the way she’s laid out an old newspaper underneath the brightly colored fruit – watches as she rolls her sleeves up and makes sure that every strand of hair is effectively tucked into her ponytail.

Felicity’s so focused on the fruit and Oliver is so focused on her and Laurel is starting to question everything she knows about the man in front of her because he looks so _enamored _by the most mundane thing.

Years of tension melt off of Oliver’s face as he gazes down at the blonde.

“You’re eating an orange,” Oliver repeats back warmly, his voice quiet as he unconsciously takes a small step forward.

“Mmm,” Felicity murmurs dismissively, hunching down so that she’s eye level with the offending fruit. She stares at it for a few seconds before straightening up and giving an affirmative nod, her mouth pressed together in full seriousness. “Bingo,” she whispers.

It’s then that Felicity finally looks up at Oliver – then she sees the arched eyebrow and the futile attempts at a hidden smile.

“Hey mister,” she starts sharply, pointing a brightly painted nail at Oliver, and Laurel feels another swell of unease in her stomach at the way Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up comically. “Don’t you make fun of me. I _love _oranges, okay? _Love them_. Like they’re probably my favorite fruit – like if I had to pick a fruit to eat for the rest of my life I’d pick oranges,” Felicity shakes her head. “But they’re so gosh darn hard to eat,” she looks down at the small fruit in irritation before continuing.

“Have _you _ever tried to eat an orange, Oliver? They’re so hard to peel and they squirt all over the place if you bite into them all wonky and don’t even get me started on all the stuff that gets stuck in your teeth,” Felicity shakes her head in irritation. “And they make me _so_ sticky and - ,”

Felicity’s face floods with color, and Laurel catches the way Oliver’s eyes widen slightly and for a second she’s ten times exasperated and a hundred times confused at how completely infatuated Oliver is with the woman in front of him.

But then Felicity’s shaking her head again and dropping her gaze back to the fruit.

“Long story short, I make a mess when I eat oranges so I’m being proactive.”

“It’s an orange, Felicity, not a bomb.”

“Oh, and I suppose you get along just fine with oranges, huh?”

It’s that sentence – that innocent and so _Felicity _question that pulls a laugh from Oliver. Not a grunt, not a smile, but a full blown, _that was funny_ laugh that even has Felicity pausing and tilting her head up fondly at Oliver.

They stare at each other for a good while. Felicity’s eyebrow is arched high in question and the expression that paints Oliver’s face is so peaceful and so content that Laurel’s hit with a small wave bitterness.

Yeah, she’s not sure where she and Ollie stand, but she’s known him her whole life and the way he looks at Felicity with such openness stings a little.

A bird flies past the windows, and the shadow that passes over Oliver’s face breaks the moment. He lets out a low laugh before leaning in and swiping the orange off of Felicity’s desk.

“Hey!”

Felicity’s up and around her table in an instant, pushing so far into Oliver’s personal space that Laurel can feel his eyes start to roll.

_Of course. _

But the way that Oliver reacts – the way that they interact in such pure and innocent way – pulls at Laurel’s emotions more than she cares to admit.

Oliver holds the orange just out of Felicity’s reach as he analyzes the fruit.

Felicity jumps, but Oliver leans further back, a disbelieving expression swiping over his features.

“Felicity,” he huffs out with a smile. “Did you really outline where you’re going to tear the peel?”

“Oliver Queen, you give me _back_ my orange!”

Felicity jams her finger into his chest with a small snarl.

“_Yow_! Hey, Edward Scissorhands,” Oliver growls, grabbing onto Felicity’s hand, his own hand absolutely engulfing hers. “Watch the claws.”

“Oh, I’ll show you claws Oliver,” Felicity retorts spitefully, yanking her hand out of his grasp and swatting his arm. “Give me back my fracking orange!”

Oliver just steps back, laughing fully now, and pulls out his phone from his back pocket before snapping a quick photo of it.

“Oh, Dig’ll love this,” he says wheezing, his free hand pressing into his side as he tries to regain composure, and Laurel is once again blown away by the sheer number of smiles she’s seen dance across Oliver Queen’s face today.

“_Oliver!”_

Felicity stomps her foot in frustration, her face flushed and eyes blazing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Oliver presses his lips together and takes in a deep breath, the smile still stamped permanently across his features. He glances down at Felicity, tilting his head at her with a look akin to wonder. “I just – I was - ,” he trails off.

_Having a bad day_, Laurel can finish Oliver’s sentence in her head. Anyone that had seen him today could.

Felicity seems to get what Oliver’s saying too, and the hand that had been grabbing up at the orange now falls to rest gently on his forearm.

She gives him a small squeeze.

_I know._

“Well,” Felicity starts, backing up and crossing her arms. “Now that you’ve stolen my orange and ridiculed me, the least you could do is peel it for me.”

Oliver rolls his eyes before glancing down at the orange in his hands.

Felicity leans forward, “Just start at the line I drew - ,”

“I’ll start where I want -,”

“No, trust me - ,”

_SPLAT!_

The two jump back as a stream of orange juice bursts from between where Oliver’s fingers are pressed.

Felicity lets out a small yelp, but soon enough she’s doubled over in laughter because there is orange juice _all. over. Oliver. _

“I told you,” she laughs. “I fracking _told _you - ,”

“Oh, shut it,” Oliver’s voice comes out in a growl, but there’s a smile on his face that lights up the whole room.

Felicity reaches up and wipes at the smattering of orange juice running down the side of Oliver’s face. It’s so domestic and the way Oliver leans into her touch seems almost second nature. It takes a moment before Felicity realizes that the juice is now all over her fingers, but then she’s taking Oliver’s free hand and using it as a makeshift napkin.

She then turns and swipes the orange from his other hand, patting the fruit affectionately.

“I always thought you needed to be humbled,” she starts. “But I never thought it’d be a fruit to do it. I _knew_ it was my favorite for a reason.”

She takes out her own phone, leveling the camera with Oliver’s unamused and juice stained grumpy face, before snapping her own picture.

“I think Dig’ll appreciate this one more,” she murmurs, patting Oliver distractedly on the chest before tapping away on her phone.

She rounds her desk and sets the orange back on the newspaper, leaning in as she starts to dissect the thing in a much more mathematical way.

Oliver just stands there, looking more like the carefree and happy man he had been before the island, and the way he smiles when Felicity shoots her fist in the air in a victorious pump as she dangles a freshly peeled orange slice in front of him is so full of unadulterated adoration and affection and _love _and - ,

“Oh,” Laurel whispers, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

_Oh_, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Not to Peel an Orange Take 2 (This time with Walter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Walter's perspective! I know it's very similar, so sorry for that. Also I decided to throw in Moira because I love Moira.

“I don’t know, Walter,” Oliver sighs, running a hand down his face as both he and Queen Consolidated’s CFO round the corner out of the elevator back and onto the executive floor.

“Oliver,” Walter Steele cuts in, his voice deep and reassured. “If I wasn’t confident in your abilities as CEO, I wouldn’t be suggesting you do this.”

Walter can see the minute the broad man before him switches from the confident, cocky CEO to the young boy he’d known many years before the island, desperate for his father’s attention and approval. He frowns at the way Oliver offers a small shake of his head and his eyebrows pull together when Oliver turns to protest.

“I - ,”

“Oliver, you’re ready. Your mother and I have been talking, and you’ve been doing an exceptional job at this, especially given the circumstances that have surrounded this particular time period of your life.” Walter stops walking in favor of grabbing Oliver’s forearm tightly.

“I’m very, very proud of the young man that you’re becoming, Oliver,” Walter says firmly. His voice softens. “I know your father would be just as proud.”

Walter doesn’t expect much of a response from Oliver Queen – he had quickly learned that the Oliver that came back from the island is worlds away from the Oliver that had stepped on the Queen’s Gambit, but the way Oliver’s eyes crinkle around the edges – the way they lose the distant and stoic look they normally seem to hold – lets Walter know that he’s said something right.

Oliver gives a quick nod, but Walter doesn’t miss the way his own eyebrows yank together tightly.

It’s then he really looks at the younger man – then he really takes in the dark circles under his eyes and the way he holds himself rigid and defensively. Walter may not be Oliver’s father, but he’s known the boy long enough to know that he’s troubled about something.

They both start walking again, Oliver leading the two of them to his office to finish up the project. Walter shifts his gaze over the desk on the left, hoping to give a customary wave to Miss Smoak, but her eyes are locked intently on something placed in front of her.

It’s with great intrigue and a splash of incredulity that Walter Steele watches the entirety of Oliver Queen’s demeanor shift as the younger man’s focus settles on the blonde IT expert.

The broad stature that was previously filled with tension and stiffness relaxes, and Oliver’s jaw loses the edge to it that reminds Walter all too much of knives and samurai swords. 

Walter knows he doesn’t realize it, but Oliver switches his direction almost immediately, abandoning the path to his office as he walks over to Felicity’s desk with a perplexed frown painting his face. Walter follows slightly, but hangs back a bit with an entertained smirk dancing on his lips.

He’s in the process of preparing himself to burn this moment to memory – he’ll want to tell Moira about it later because  _ this _ Oliver is the closest to happy he’s ever seen – but the elevator behind him is already pushing open and the woman in question walks in.

Walter quietly steps backwards towards the elevator bank and pulls his wife over to him, bringing a finger up to his lips in the universal “be quiet” sign.

Moira rolls her eyes in feigned annoyance, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that lets Walter know exactly how she feels. It’s only when Walter points discretely to the young duo in the center of the office floor that Moira lets out a real eye roll.

She’s been around Oliver and Felicity enough to know that the dynamic between the blonde and her son are far from the promiscuous concerns that had plagued her before, but ever since she’s shared her observations with her husband, he’s been far too enthusiastic to cheer the friendship along.

Walter offers his arm to his wife, and they both wait patiently for Oliver to turn back around and lead them to his office.

He doesn’t though. Not in the slightest.

No, his attention is captured entirely by one blonde IT expert with a propensity for bright finger nail polish.

Oliver stands in front of Felicity for a good few seconds, almost as if waiting for the young woman to realize he’s there. When she doesn’t offer him any form of acknowledgement, he folds his arms tightly across his chest and clears his throat.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating an orange,” Felicity’s response is so quick and so “matter-of-fact-esque” that Walter jolts in surprise when he hears a small chuckle slip past Moira’s lips.

Oliver grunts but she doesn’t even spare him a glance as she shakes her arms out and rolls her neck dramatically side to side.

Oliver presses his lips together in an amused line, and it pulls into a small smile when Felicity folds her hands in front of her and arches them out to crack them. He takes in the way she’s laid out an old newspaper underneath the brightly colored fruit – watches as she rolls her sleeves up and makes sure that every strand of hair is effectively tucked into her ponytail.

She’s so focused on the fruit and Oliver is so focused on her and Walter is starting to question everything he knows about the man in front of him because he looks so  _ enamored  _ by the most mundane thing.

Years of tension melt off of Oliver’s face as he gazes down at the blonde.

“You’re eating an orange,” Oliver questions warmly, his voice quite as he unconsciously takes a small step forward.

“Mmm,” Felicity murmurs dismissively, hunching down so that she’s eye level with the offending fruit. She stares at it for a few seconds before straightening up and giving an affirmative nod, her mouth pressed together in full seriousness. “Bingo,” she whispers.

It’s then that she finally looks up at Oliver – then she sees the arched eyebrow and the futile attempts at a hidden smile.

“Hey mister,” she says sharply, pointing a brightly painted nail at Oliver. “Don’t you make fun of me. I  _ love  _ oranges, okay?  _ Love them _ . Like they’re probably my favorite fruit – like if I had to pick a fruit to eat for the rest of my life I’d pick oranges,” Felicity shakes her head. “But they’re so gosh darn hard to eat,” she looks down at the small fruit in irritation.

“Have  _ you  _ ever tried to eat an orange, Oliver? They’re so hard to peel and they squirt all over the place if you bite into them all wonky and don’t even get me started on all the stuff that gets stuck in your teeth,” Felicity shakes her head in irritation before continuing. “And they make me  _ so _ sticky and - ,”

Felicity’s face floods with color, and Walter catches the way Oliver’s eyes widen slightly and for a second he’s ten times amused and a hundred times appalled at how completely infatuated Oliver is with the woman in front of him because it’s  _ so damn obvious _ .

A sideways glance towards his wife reveals the same thought.

But then Felicity’s shaking her head again and dropping her gaze back to the fruit.

“Long story short, I make a mess when I eat oranges so I’m being proactive.”

“It’s an orange, Felicity. It’s not a bomb.”

“Oh, and I suppose you get along just fine with oranges, huh?”

It’s that sentence – that innocent and so  _ Felicity  _ question that pulls a laugh from Oliver. Not a grunt, not a smile, but a full blown,  _ that was funny _ laugh that even has Felicity pausing and tilting her head up fondly at Oliver.

They stare at each other for a good while. Felicity’s eyebrow is arched high in question and the expression that paints Oliver’s face is so peaceful and so content that Walter’s hit with a wave of gratitude for the blonde in front of him.

He’d never thought he’d see his step-son so at ease – not since after his first night back from the island when he’d woken to the sound of Moira’s yells and booming thunder.

A bird flies past the windows, and the shadow that passes over Oliver’s face breaks the moment. He lets out a low laugh before leaning in and swiping the orange off of Felicity’s desk.

“Hey!”

Felicity’s up and around her table in an instant, pushing so far into Oliver’s personal space that Walter can feel his eyes start to roll  _ again  _ in fond amusement.

_ Bloody idiots, the two of them. _

Oliver holds the orange just out of Felicity’s reach as he analyzes the fruit.

Felicity jumps, but Oliver leans further back, a disbelieving expression swiping over his features.

“Felicity,” he huffs out with a smile. “Did you really outline where you’re going to tear the peel?”

“Oliver Queen, give me  _ back _ my orange!”

Felicity jams her finger into his chest with a small growl.

“ _ Yow _ ! Hey, Edward Scissorhands,” Oliver yelps, grabbing onto Felicity’s hand, his own hand absolutely engulfing hers. “Watch the claws.”

“Oh, I’ll show you claws Oliver,” Felicity retorts spitefully, yanking her hand out of his grasp and swatting his arm repeatedly. “Give me back my fracking orange!”

Oliver just steps back, laughing fully now, and pulls out his phone from his back pocket before snapping a quick photo of it.

“Oh, Dig’ll love this,” he says wheezing, his free hand pressing into his side as he tries to regain composure, and Walter is once again blown away by the sheer number of smiles he’s seen dance across Oliver Queen’s face today.

“ _ Oliver!” _

Felicity stomps her foot in frustration, her face flushed and eyes blazing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Oliver presses his lips together and takes in a deep breath, the smile still stamped permanently across his features. He glances down at Felicity, tilting his head at her with a look akin to wonder. “I just – I was - ,” he trails off.

_ Having a bad day _ , Walter finishes Oliver’s words in his head.

Somehow Felicity seems to get what Oliver’s saying, even without the use of words, and the hand that had been grabbing up at the orange now falls to rest gently on his forearm.

She gives him a small squeeze.

_ I know. _

“Well,” Felicity starts, backing up and crossing her arms. “Now that you’ve stolen my orange and ridiculed me, the least you could do is peel it for me.”

Oliver rolls his eyes before glancing down at the orange in his hands.

Felicity leans forward, “Just start at the line I drew - ,”

“I’ll start where I want -,” Oliver bats her hands away.

“No, trust me - ,”

_ SPLAT! _

The two jump back as a stream of orange juice bursts from between where Oliver’s fingers are pressed.

Felicity lets out a small yelp, but soon enough she’s doubled over in laughter because there is orange juice  _ all. over. Oliver. _

“I told you,” she laughs. “I fracking  _ told  _ you - ,”

“Oh, shut it,” Oliver’s voice comes out in a growl, but there’s a smile on his face that lights up the whole room.

Felicity reaches up and wipes at the smattering of orange juice running down the side of Oliver’s face. It’s so domestic and the way Oliver leans into her touch is almost like second nature. It takes a second before she realizes the juice is all over her fingers, and she takes Oliver’s free hand and uses it as a makeshift napkin.

There’s a hint of a mischievous glint in Oliver’s eye, but Felicity’s already swatting down the hand that’s trying to sprinkle juice all over her face.

He takes it in stride, the smile on his face so bright and wide that Walter can actually see all of Oliver’s teeth.

She then turns and swipes the orange from his other hand, patting the fruit affectionately.

“I always thought you needed to be humbled,” she starts. “But I never thought it’d be a fruit to do it. I  _ knew _ it was my favorite for a reason.”

She takes out her own phone, leveling the camera with Oliver’s unamused and juice stained face, before snapping her own picture.

“I think Dig’ll appreciate this one more,” she murmurs, patting Oliver distractedly on the chest before tapping away on her phone.

She rounds her desk and sets the orange back on the newspaper, leaning in as she starts to dissect the thing in a much more mathematical way. Oliver just stands there, looking more like the carefree and happy boy he had been before the island, and the way he smiles when Felicity shoots her fist in the air in a victorious pump as she dangles a freshly peeled orange slice in front of her lets Walter exactly who Felicity Smoak is in Oliver Queen’s life.

Walter glances down at his wife. She’s got a hand pressed to her chest and her eyes are squinted in the same way that they had been after she had seen Oliver alive for the first time in five years. Walter knows that Moira is far from accepting any sort of woman in Oliver’s life, but the way she takes in the blonde with a sort of respect is enough for now.

He gazes at his wife, a smile just for her slowly pulling at the edges of his lips when - ,

_ SMACK! _

“Ow!  _ Fe-li-ci-ty _ !”

“Oliver Queen, touch my computer with those sticky fingers again and so help me I’ll - ,”

“You’ll  _ what? _ ” Oliver challenges haughtily, hand already reaching forward.

Felicity kicks her chair directly into Oliver, and it rolls right into - ,

Walter’s eyes widen as Oliver slumps over with a loud groan, and it’s with a snort from Moira and Walter’s own silent words of sympathy directed towards his step-son that the two leave them be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Every time I get a notification in my inbox with "comment" I cry a little from pure pure joy! :))

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! It feeds my soul and brings light to my life!!! Love ya!


End file.
